


guide me home

by wintercreek



Category: Glee
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-11
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:26:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercreek/pseuds/wintercreek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-kidfic. Logistics, fears, promises, paint and IKEA furniture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	guide me home

"So here's the thing: I want to stay home." Blaine drops his gaze to his hands, tangling his fingers restlessly in his lap.

"You do?" Kurt sounds surprised. "But you make more money than I do."

Blaine looks up in time to catch Kurt's frown. "Yeah, but we have enough saved, right? We don't need me to work."

Kurt shakes his head. "We don't, as long as we don't move to a bigger place. I mean, we'll need more room in a couple years. But if we stay here, and we're careful, I can cover things." He chews his lip. "Health insurance?"

"We can keep mine at a reduced cost if I go on leave rather than quitting. We'll have to revisit all of this at six months, and I might have to work part time, but ..." Blaine trails off, feeling hopeful as Kurt smiles.

"Let's do it," he says, leaning forward to grab Blaine's hands. "I'll take two weeks unpaid, to get us started, and maybe I can do some half-time after that," Kurt says, then pauses and shakes his head again. "Or not. I don't think I can work half-time and be the breadwinner."

Blaine chuckles. "Are you going to expect me to bake you prizes?" When Kurt looks puzzled, he elaborates, "You know, 'breadwinner.'" Blaine can feel his smile growing as Kurt's face slides from exasperated to fond.

"It's official," Kurt sighs. "You're making terrible puns. You're ready to be a father." He stands and goes back to what he was doing before: painting the tiny room that used to be Blaine's office. Blaine's desk is shoehorned into their living room, now, and the walls of the little room are turning a twilit blue-purple under Kurt's efforts.

Their couch is so soft, so comfortable, and Blaine doesn't want to get up. But he can't spend all Saturday sitting here while Kurt paints, so instead he settles on the floor with the IKEA chest of drawers and starts assembling it. He gets the body of the chest together, and as he starts in on the first drawer Kurt's voice drifts out of the office. Out of the baby's room.

"Why do you want to stay home?" Kurt asks in his gentlest tone. "I always thought I'd wind up writing freelance from home, and you'd keep working at the firm. Let's be clear: this way is fine, and I'm more than happy to get to stay with the magazine. I just want to know why."

Blaine breathes, gathering his thoughts. "My parents both worked." He knows it's not enough of an answer. When Kurt's hand appears in the doorway, graceful wrist rotating in a gesture that says, "Yes, and?" as clearly as words, Blaine smiles and nods to himself. "They were never home, you know? I had a nanny for a while, when I was really small - she's in most of my baby pictures, actually - and then daycare, and tutors, and then I was old enough not to need anyone and I was at Dalton during the school year. And it's not like I never saw my parents, because I did. We had dinners and sometimes they'd be around on weekends ... both of them, I mean, they didn't leave me all alone or anything. My dad and I rebuilt that car. That was something, no matter what his motivations were. But."

The painting noises in the baby's room have stopped; Kurt hasn't appeared. Blaine doesn't know what that means.

He takes a breath. Focuses on the drawer pieces in front of him. Then another breath. "Sometimes I wondered if they had a kid because it was what they were supposed to do, you know? Even before they knew I was gay, they never seemed to know what to do with me. And they did provide for me. I know they worked hard so I could go to Dalton, and to NYU, and they paid for our old apartment and our new car and– It's not like I'm saying I was neglected. I had everything I needed provided for me, food and clothing and a lot more than some people get."

Blaine looks up, and Kurt's sitting in the doorway. He has blue paint on his left hand and in his hair. His eyebrows are drawn together, and he's watching Blaine intently, but he's not saying anything.

"It's just that sometimes I'd look at my friends' houses, or when I got older I'd be over at yours, and I'd see all the ways it could be. Kurt, your dad is so great, and so's Carole, and Finn. You're a _family_. And you - you know how to do that. I don't think you could do anything other than be the kind of father that your dad is." Blaine can't hold Kurt's eyes anymore. He looks back down at the drawer instead, fiddles with the tiny tools that came with the chest. "I know what kind of father I want to be, but I'm not sure I know how. So I need to do more. To try harder. I don't want our kid raised by staff, or coming home to an empty house, or sitting at our dinner table searching frantically for appropriate conversation topics."

Kurt's inched forward. Blaine's startled to see how close he is when Kurt's hand gently covers Blaine's, stilling his fidget and wrapping around his palm. "That's not how it's going to be," he says.

The miniature wrench makes a _ting_ on the hardwood floor when Blaine drops it. "I know it won't. I won't let it. I don't– This makes it sound like they were awful, and they weren't. They were good parents, in the ways they knew how to be. I think they do love me, because that's one of the things parents are supposed to do. But I want our kid to _feel_ loved. To know it. I want to–" he breaks off, closing his eyes.

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt says, squeezing Blaine's hand and waiting until Blaine opens his eyes and looks at him. Then Kurt leans in and says, "You know how to love, I promise you that."

"How do you do that?" Blaine asks. "How do you know what I'm not saying?"

Kurt's mouth quirks into a small smile. "I love you. How do you know what I'm not saying?"

"Same," Blaine answers, feeling his own face lighten.

"There," Kurt says. "And you'll love our kid. Or our kids. I know you. I know you will. And some day we will torment them with family dinners that involve long conversations that may or may not be appropriate, and vacations, and we'll monopolize their weekends with so much togetherness that they won't know what to do with us." He stands and then bends to kiss Blaine's temple. "And honey?"

Blaine looks up at him. "Yes?"

"If you're not going to work full time, we can't afford a nanny." Kurt gives Blaine a look, raising his eyebrows, and disappears back into the baby's room. The sound of the paint roller starts up again. When it's followed by Kurt's voice crooning, "You're nobody 'til somebody loves you," Blaine grins helplessly and joins in, harmonizing absently as the drawer that will hold their baby's clothes takes shape under his hands.


End file.
